


Be Healed

by clytemnestras



Category: Christian Bible, Christian Bible (New Testament)
Genre: Angst, Multi, Pining, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5577403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and since he bids me seek his face, believe his word and trust his grace, I'll cast on him my every care</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Healed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kwritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/gifts).



> dear universe: this is kelsey's fault

Gethsemane cannot replace Eden. In Gethsemane they may still be forgiven.  
  
*  
  
Perhaps the angels knock on her windows and walls. Angelic voices on the wind, begging, screaming, but she never has the right words for them so she never answers.  
  
Mary hears wingbeats in her sleep, wakes with feathers in her hair.  
  
As he takes to knocking on her window seeking reprieve she still has no answers but her door stays open when his eyes drift closed.  
  
He kisses her hand and nothing more.  
  
*  
  
Call her holy, call her sanctified in the night when nobody is watching and he lies in her arms and asks for nothing but the hands running through his hair.  
  
His skin is dirty and his eyes are older by the night. In sleep, his smiles are Saintlike.  
  
When he asks for forgiveness she does not ask what for and does not say it isn't hers to give. With his skin under the dripping cloth and her fingers, wiping the sins of fear and sleeplessness from his aching body, he begs that she might bless him. Oh Holy, forgive me.  
  
The air is hollow inside their lungs.  
  
Her lips brush the tired skin of his cheek and she does not know why he cries but she lets him, God witness her, she lets him.  
  
*  
  
_Father I have done nothing wrong but I've seen things unholy like blood on my hands and mud on my knees and even when I wake my nails are black and fingers stained. Help me, Father. I have done nothing wrong. I will do nothing wrong. Please help me._  
  
*  
  
The stars cannot absolve her for the marks on her flesh and she sleeps naked and alone with the blanket scraping raw her moonlit skin. He does not come and she does not wait for him. She sleeps for days and days asking the angels to leave her alone.  
  
*  
  
Had she kissed him when spring began he may have done worse. He may have done nothing at all.  
  
*  
  
(God kisses her, tells her she is glorious, she is absolved and her touch absolving and he tells her that he is sorry and will not say why.)  
  
(She tells him she's the symbol of abuse. She is the image of a martyr who does not die. She can still feel the stones kissing her.)  
  
(He tells her to go to sleep.)  
  
*  
  
Even with that, the men come for her. Fingernails fucking into her skin.  
  
Standing delicate in her cloth-sewn dresses, the perfect whore of the Lord's favour.  
  
Every slur said with prayer, did He not save her from this? Does Jezebel not become one with the angels?  
  
_Whore_ , they scream. ( _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned._ )  
  
_Slut._ ( _Forgive them, Father, they know no better._ )  
  
_Worshipper of Man._ ( _I have never touched what was not mine to take. Oh, Father, believe me now. You must believe me._ )  
  
They may leave bruises but none from a kiss and she is not their canvas.  
  
*  
  
The landlords spit at her when she stumbles for rent and they spit at him for laying with her and she does not let them ruin her.  
  
Her hand in his they dance in the rain. They dance, and dance, and dance.  
  
*  
  
She never asks him for a thing.  
  
*  
  
_Father, I love him I can do nothing wrong._  
  
I love him, I love her.  
  
Bless me for I am innocent and meek, I am the child of selfless love, I am the Saint of Misunderstanding.  
  
Please, Father.  
  
Name me not a devil for loving them. They loved me first.  
  
*  
  
She holds him close and can't think it a crime.  
  
His skin is cold even with the dull dry heat, her touch must burn him and he buries closer, wrapped in her softness and needing something.  
  
The moths sink themselves into candles as though it's the only choice.  
  
Can they be blamed? The broken man and the whore holding on to the last embers of divinity. Clinging to skin.  
  
*  
  
Does God ask anything of her but the comfort of her hands?  
  
Does the King ask her to kiss softly every mark upon his skin to aid his healing?  
  
Does she wait for Him, knowing He will not leave her in this place?  
  
*  
  
He kisses her in the garden. The place he knows is waiting for his blood and he kisses her under the trees and he says this is his salvation. _Do not choke on my blame_ , he tells her. _You were the last thing I held with grace._  
  
He does not say sorry.  
  
*  
  
The angels won't stop knocking and she is afraid to answer. With skin trembling under her blankets she is afraid of what they will tell her.  
  
Wingbeats and quietness.  
  
Her bed is cold. Her skin is cold. Her heart and the angels keep beating anyway.


End file.
